


Thoughtcrime

by GuileandGall



Series: Guardians in the Darkness [3]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Friendship, Garrus' Persepctive, Gen, Geth, Haratar, Legion Loyalty Mission, Male-Female Friendship, Mass Effect 2, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 07:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4426421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuileandGall/pseuds/GuileandGall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Just once I'd like to ask someone for help and hear them say, ‘Sure. Let's go. Right now. No strings attached.’” It was a pipe dream when Nyx Shepard muttered it on Omega. By the time Legion brings up the issues with the ‘heretic’ geth, she’s fully prepared for the you help me I’ll help you expectation. But is Garrus ready to be thrown into a veritable sea of synthetics and the aftermath?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thoughtcrime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LHS3020b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LHS3020b/gifts).



> This was written to fill a commission for lhs3020b. Thank you again so very much for doing that, it truly helped and I really appreciate your patience with this piece. The request was for Garrus’ reactions to the geth heretic space station in ME2. I have to thank a few people for their beta efforts: LadyAmesIndy, Chyrstis, and CelesteEnnui. I’m lucky to have such amazing and helpful women willing to give their time to make this piece shine.  
> The title, thoughtcrime, means an instance of unorthodox or controversial thinking, considered as a criminal offense or as socially unacceptable. I thought it was wholly accurate for the situation at hand.

**Thoughtcrime**

**-1-**

The _Normandy_ was quieter now. This newer, bigger sister of the old girl that had carted Shepard and her ragtag crew all over Council Space years earlier ran with what amounted to a skeleton crew, at least for a ship her size. It made the night cycles on the ship deadly quiet. Everyone tiptoed carefully while most of the crew slumbered, all except one; the one the rest of the crew whispered about and skirted around.

Garrus watched their behavior with curiosity. It was very unlike the first cruise where everyone basked in Shepard’s company. He could not decide if that was more her choice or theirs, perhaps it was just enough of both to maintain the distance.

Shepard crossed the crew deck--her typically silent steps, heavier than normal, rang off the metallic surfaces. _What was that human saying? Mention a demon? Talk about danger?_ The turian shook his head. _No that’s not quite right, but close enough_.

He let the saying fall from his mind as he studied his old friend. Garrus recognized the signs, could read the boosted stress levels that tightened her petite frame and changed her gait; he could venture a guess at the cause. Somehow, though, Cerberus had been relatively removed, so they were probably not the only thing weighing her down in the moment. They had been friends a long time, and over the years he learned that she had a thicker skin than most of her species, but still things could work their way under and fester.

Garrus chose to follow her to the cargo bay. Upon reaching the lower deck he heard the telltale signs of Shepard’s particular high stress relief. A high-pitched metallic ringing mixed with the quick barrage of bare-knuckled punches slapping a synthetic material. The soft swish did not interrupt the music of the motions either, and he did not intend to. So Garrus just leaned in the doorway, watching for a while as Shepard battered the heavy bag. She had shed the black and white blouse, which she claimed made her itch, even though she had carefully cut Cerberus’ logos off of it.

The scars were mostly gone, he noticed. The pink and red patchwork which had traced over back, arms, and shoulders when they met again on Omega had all but disappeared in the last several months, save for the few that kept reopening because she would neither slow down nor take it easy. Those words seemed to have been expunged from Nyx’s vocabulary when Lawson and the pro-human group all but resurrected her from the dead. Garrus suspected Shepard kept doing those sorts of things on purpose—ripping stitches, fighting through the pain—just to prove she was still _real_ , still herself. If she kept going at that bag the way she was, she would end up in medical after this workout as well.

He scanned the area to the tune of her rhythmic punches resounding off the flat, hard surfaces. Except for the color scheme this could have been the gym on the old _Normandy_. From the well-appointed equipment to Shepard battering away against the heavy bag, though back then she usually did it in the shorts and tank of her Alliance PT uniform, but still it felt familiar. It was like a page out of their scrapbook. Her and that human flitting, as Wrex fondly called it, dodging and weaving as the bag swung in response to her knees and fists.

Unconsciously, Garrus rubbed the side of his neck, just in the spot where she had hit him and knocked the sense out of him for a few beats years earlier. That fight stuck with him through the years, his offensive approach up against that defensive dance of hers. His mandibles twitched with the memory of the moment he thought he had her dead to rights. He had been wrong. Shepard hit him right under the mandible hard enough to scramble his head for a bit. It left him with a bruise there for a few days after too. The gruff chuckle escaped before he could curb it and the tough little human who refused to die turned toward him.

“What’s going on, Shepard?” he asked, answering the accusation in her gaze.

Her shoulders relaxed after a moment. Then she shook her head and returned to the bag, her feet shifting in a deadly dance that Garrus himself had found almost comical until she used on him.

“Same old, same old. Everyone—”

When her speech cut off, Garrus caught her gaze on him in the mirror for an instant before her eyes moved back to her dangling opponent.

“Like Mordin hinted at,” Vakarian teased, guessing what she was going to say, “everyone’s got strings.”

“Something—like—that,” she said gruffly between vigorous punches that made the chain holding the bag shake against the frame holding it.

“So, I take it that means the overgrown flashlight needs a favor?”

Her hands stilled the bag as her weaving stopped, though her breath was still far too even for the exertion she expended. The sleeveless racer-back top allowed him to see the ripple of tension that moved through the muscles under her skin. Then there was a single curt nod. Even though the turian got his answer he waited a moment, the tension, the physical exertion, it all told him there was more. Shepard never had been the type of person to just rip open her shirt and bare all to the world. _No, in that way Nyx could be almost turian._ She kept things squared away as well as any Hierarchy officer he ever met. Despite the fact that she was human and a Spectre, Garrus harbored the belief that his father could like her, maybe.

“I wasn’t sure at first, but there was something about the way … it kept talking about these _heretic_ geth. It just felt like in its own synthetic way it was beating around the bush, trying to approach the request from the right angle.” Her punches softened as she considered it, or so the furrow of her brow would suggest. “Apparently there’s some sort of schism between the geth. The ones Legion states were behind the Eden Prime War and what he calls the _true_ geth, which from what I can gather is his faction which remained behind the Veil. For a war resulting from ideological tensions that strong, it’s almost polite. At least to hear him tell it.”

“Geth Civil War? Wouldn’t that prove useful?”

She gave a sharp bark of a laugh. “Maybe if they did it like non-synthetics.” Shepard shook her head as her countenance sobered. “When is war ever really useful, Garrus?”

Deep down he knew she was right, but the idea of two factions of geth wiping one another out somehow seemed an attractive alternative to thousands of organics falling prey to their plans for advancement.

“Plus,” she began again, “apparently these heretics are taking a less hands-on approach than you or I might be used to. They are planning some kind of viral software attack on the _true geth_ ,” she explained, complete with one-handed air quotes.

“You buying all this?”

“I don’t know.” Her action slowed to little more than a swaying in opposition to the bag, while Garrus merely watched from his leaning post. “Legion’s helped us. He or it … or they I guess,” Shepard said, rubbing the knuckles of her fists over the synthetic fabric of the bag. “They said they’ve never met me.” Nyx turned and met Garrus’ gaze fully. “Says what they know comes from organic sources.”

“So he’s what? Some kind of lone scout who’s joined your fan club?”

“They,” Nyx corrected as she walked toward one of the weight benches, where she sat down. “There are apparently 1,183 geth running in that _mobile platform_. Or so Legion claims.”

“So you didn’t just bring one geth on board?” Garrus laughed roughly as he mimicked her movement and closed the distance, sitting a few feet across from her on another bench. “Tali must be so pleased.”

Shepard shook her head and a wistful, yet pained, smile painted her face. “Of that I’m sure. She, likely, would understand it far better than I do, but that is beside the point. There appears to be a station full of geth hidden at the edge of the Terminus, far from the eyes of everyone. Set off all by its lonesome where they are planning to launch this signal-based attack from.”

“That’s no mean feat, Shepard.”

“Tell me about it,” she agreed.

He struggled with the idea. _How could no one have noticed the geth building a station even out there? We’re not talking about one or two cargo ships. This was materials for an entire space station. A few floating cities worth of metal, silicone, and Spirits knew what else. How could the geth move that much material through a relay in a populated system without one soul noticing? Beyond that, how did they keep this thing under wraps after the fact?_ Garrus grabbed the cowl of his uniform as his mind raced.

“But it gets better. They’ve gone and gotten this virus from the Reapers or the Collectors somehow, and this code would make every geth, every single one, even the those still beyond the Veil, decide that worshiping the Reapers is the most logical course of action.”

“Spirits! That can’t happen,” he opined, not really sure if she sought his input or not. _Now it makes sense._ In a matter of moments the situation had shot past concerning and right to alarming. He could see why the news had Shepard in such a tense state, after that sizable revelation. The Reaper’s interference with the geth schism seemed to be a clear signal that someone needed to step in, even more so if these heretics had plans to “convert” all the geth to the worship of the Old Machines. Knowing Shepard it was the role the Reapers played in all this which had her on edge, much more so than the relocation of an entire space station.

“On that we can agree, old friend. A station full might be worrisome, but every geth in the galaxy deciding to ally with the Sovereign’s pals?” Her eyes told him more than anything else. Vakarian knew that determined look in her crystal-clear blue eyes. He had seen it years ago when she told him to give Joker the transponder codes for Dr. Saleon’s vessel and when he told her his plans for Sidonis. She would interfere; Shepard was going to put herself on the line for this geth, though just like in the other instances he would not know the outcome of her determined attitude until they were in the thick of it.

Despite the purposefulness, her tone and the way she leaned back with a slump in her shoulders, it was clear how exhausted she was. When he took the time to look closer, he could see those things that escaped his notice earlier— the darkness beneath her eyes, the pallor. The commander ran herself ragged, all in an effort to succeed where others would not even step up to try and where most would not even acknowledge the truth of the situation.

“So, we’re going to infiltrate a geth station, then?” Garrus asked, pushing off his knees to get to his feet.

The commander offered a curt nod as her head leaned back to follow his face.

“Then you should get some sleep, because you look worse than me. And I took a rocket to the face.”

Her laughter sang off the metal surfaces of the room. It relieved him greatly, even if it was only a momentary reprieve. “Maybe you’re right,” Shepard agreed, her voice still tinged with humor. After standing, slowly, he noticed, Nyx crossed the room and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You should get a bit of rest, too.”

“Oh? Then I take it I get to see the inside of a geth station?”

“That you will.”

All he mustered was a curt nod. Garrus had not considered that choice; for some reason he expected Nyx to take her old stance when dealing with geth—take Tali. While he often tagged along in those endeavors, Tali had always been the one Shepard counted on when geth were involved. _Tali and Kaidan_ , he recalled, a hint of sadness tugging at his gut for a moment and he could not help but wonder if that might be among the reasons for the change. Of course, their friend did just lost her father, while also learning that his work with the geth far exceeded any of her expectations and nearly got her expelled from the Migrant Fleet to boot. As it was, the quarian had not taken well to Shepard even reviving the geth platform, let alone allowing him to join the crew. Vakarian could not fault Tali for concern over Legion, even he wondered once or twice if the Spectre was thinking clearly when he heard about that decision.

Watching her leave, Vakarian caught his reflection in the mirror and grimaced at it. His grip on his cowl tightened, digits rubbing against the armored ridge as his mind moved thought to thought unchecked. At first glance, this assault felt almost as foolish as welcoming Legion. The geth, all of them, were pariahs dubbed enemies years earlier. It would not be the same as attempting to infiltrate a Council station. _Even a batarian station might prove an easier target,_ Vakarian hazarded as he paced out into the cargo bay as concern over this mission crept over him. _Being sent into a nest of synthetics by another of their number, with a disturbing story designed to pluck at Shepard’s sensibilities._ If they’ve studied the first human Spectre, the geth would know her alignments. _They would know just how to lure her into a trap_ , he thought as he tried to stretch the tension out of his neck.

**-2-**

When the _Normandy_ arrived in the Sea of Storms, silence pervaded the bridge. Even the lower levels were quieter than usual. Everyone knew the situation they were headed into—an offensive infiltration of a geth-controlled  space station. Even if they did not know the specifics behind the mission, they knew that essentially Shepard had picked out a stick with which to poke a nest of the AI race which had become tantamount to the synthetic bogeyman of the universe. There were few humans on the vessel that did not have memories or at least knowledge of the events that occurred on Eden Prime a few years earlier. That situation, much like Shanxi, affected them all. Most humans, especially those who had seen battle in those skirmishes, held the geth in a light similar to how much of the previous generation held the turians. For many it was easier to despise the geth; they were synthetics—a creation more than a species as most saw it.

Watching the sparse activity on the bridge, Garrus took note of the stolen glances of the males and females at the stations, both toward Shepard and toward the projection that loomed where the galaxy map normally swirled in serenity. _Normandy_ ’s passive scans offered the entire CIC a vision of the so-called heretic station. There were even a few gasps when it appeared, looming like a one-eyed mythological beast. Nyx leaned her hips on the railing of her perch, manipulating the image as she studied it from various angles. Her attention was rapt in the structure, and she seemed oblivious to the reactions of the other humans, which Garrus chalked up as another symptom of her fatigue.

“EDI—”

“Yes, Shepard.” EDI’s voice rang off the smooth surfaces before the Spectre could finish the rest of her statement.

“Find everything you can on the design of this station of theirs. I’d like to have an idea what I’m looking at in there. Layout. Ingress and egress points. Access panels. Security. The usual, please.”

Tali moved toward the commander’s raised console. Garrus noticed the stutter in her step, the careful way the quarian gripped the edge of the console in the center of the bridge, though she said nothing. Even without being able to see her face, Vakarian could tell something was wrong. Tali, though typically tightly wound, seemed tenser than normal.

“Already done. This station was originally a quarian design,” the _Normandy_ ’s unshackled VI announced. Nyx’s gaze shot to her left, to Tali. “Pulling up the Council records it is the—.”

“Haratar,” Tali answered in a breathy exhale.

“Yes. According to the data, the station was stripped of useful technology by the Migrant Fleet when it pulled out of the Perseus Veil three hundred years ago,” the modulated voice continued. Shepard noted the AI’s diplomatic phrasing of the situation. “In about 2050, officials removed the station from the star charts and it has been all but forgotten.”

Garrus straightened, setting one hand on his hip as he stood and listened to the exchange. As if this was not stressful enough, now there was this added measure. _Haratar. The hulk of a quarian space station moved far from the home where it had been abandoned centuries earlier. To make matters worse, the geth repurposed it, heretic geth at that, and all for some unknowable reason._ “How did the geth relocate it with no one noticing?” he asked, thoughts finally escaping the confines of his crested skull. “I mean the idea of them building one out there was one thing, but for them to move an entire space station through a relay without a soul taking note. That seems impossible.”

His question brought every eye in the room, including the single lens of Legion, toward him. Shepard’s was the only reaction he even tried to read. The tip of Tali’s head suggested the same question might have been among some of her own.

“Good question, … though it doesn’t really matter. It’s here now,” Shepard stated, her attention turning back to the display.

“It is the Terminus. People turn a blind eye rather than get involved in things that can get them killed,” Tali grumbled. The sharpness in her voice honed as her attention returned to Legion. “How long have _you_ been repurposing this station?”

The synthetic tapped at the interface before him. “According to the scans, the reconstruction and upgrades made to this facility were a massive effort. Taking the heretic population into account, it would have taken more than a decade.”

“Ten years!”

Shepard’s words were clearly more accusation than question. One that mirrored Garrus’ own thoughts. That calculation would imply that there were geth beyond the Perseus Veil long before the attack on the human colony at Eden Prime, which started the war. _Had Saren discovered the station, already under re-construction? Or was it a secret these so-called heretic geth kept even from him? Did Sovereign inspire the station’s move? Perhaps even facilitate it? It’s rebuilding? Could those estimates be correct?_

_How did it go completely undiscovered?_ Garrus knew the answer as well as any, Tali had hit the nail directly on the head—the Terminus was a place where being too interested in things could get a person hurt, but more likely her implication about the geth seemed most likely. Vakarian remembered that the MSV Cornucopia as well as she did, despite the years since—the one whose crew discovered an artifact and turned toward the Perseus Veil, seemingly with the intention of making contact with the geth only to be turned into husks and have their vessel set adrift as a warning to any others. If the geth on that station were the same that started the war with their attack on Eden Prime, then they likely the same type which doled out that type of fate on any that approached their efforts in the Sea of Storms, their dark little corner of the galaxy.

“So the plans aren’t going to do us any good,” Shepard surmised.

“Probably not,” Tali chimed.

“I believe Creator Zorah’s assessment would be accurate. As geth do not suffer the same requirements as organics it is likely that the design and layout have been streamlined for recharge, storage and data exchange,” Legion explained.

“How many are there?” Garrus inquired, an absent question more out of curiosity than strategy.

“Roughly 6.6 million programs.”

“Come again?” Shepard’s head turned sharply. “There are six million geth on that station?” she asked, pointing at the station in the display.

“You always did like the tough odds,” Vakarian chuckled gruffly.

Legion interjected another clarification. “Only 2.4 million are installed in mobile platforms.”

Shepard laughed, pinching the bridge of her nose and trying not to laugh. “Oh, well, that makes _all_ the difference.”

“Well, in the span of a sentence he decreased the opposition by a third.” The turian shook his head as he leaned against the railing again, arms crossed over his chest. “You’ve beaten worse odds, haven’t you, Shepard? I mean you are a Spectre after all.”

Blue eyes bored into him, but the corners crinkled with her mischievous smile. “You’ve been watching too many vids, Vakarian. I’m afraid you might be starting to believe your own press.”

The room erupted in laughter.

“Or yours,” Vakarian shot back.

Once the raucous response calmed down a bit, Shepard turned to the geth again. “What kind of opposition are we looking at, realistically, Legion?”

“If we take care, none to minimal.” His tone always seemed so detached, no matter the subject. It bordered on unnerving.

Shepard tapped her fingertips against the railing of the perch. “All right. Let’s get this done, shall we?” With that, she stepped down, touching Tali’s forearm for a moment before she headed toward the bridge with Legion in tow.

Garrus gave Shepard a nod and stopped near Tali before following. “Are you all right?” he asked, keeping his voice quiet and his tone conversational so as not to draw anyone else’s attention.

“I’m fine. It’s just—” The quarian shook her head and leaned against the console. After a quick moment her face was turned back up toward Garrus’, the speed was almost startling. “This is insane you know this, right? Geth dragging a quarian station out here and retrofitting it for who knows what. Even the idea of _heretic_ geth. They are all geth. They’re still the enemy and not just to the quarians. That should be obvious after what happened on Eden Prime … and with Saren. On the Rayya.”

When she started her rant, the turian had been moving her out of the center of the bridge. It was not a conversation for everyone on the ship, or so Garrus thought. “Shepard knows all of this. And truth be told I think the list of who she trusts on this boat is a short one. You and I are both on it,” he added as if there could be any doubt.

“Then how can she take this … _Legion_ at its word?” Tali argued as the hatch closed behind them and left them alone in the hall.

“You weren’t on that derelict Reaper. He helped us. Took out several of those mutated forces that nearly ambushed us, then got us to the core. And he hasn’t been aggressive at all. He’s being cooperative, even if it serves his own purposes.”

“Because guiding us to a station of two million mobile geth is helpful?”

Garrus put his hands on her shoulders and leaned closer to her. “If he is telling the truth, yes. If he’s right, and Eden Prime was the result of some faction that broke away from the rest of the geth in the Veil, and that these are them. Then this plan to combat rewriting the logic of the rest of the geth to make them think worshiping the Reapers is the way to go. If it all checks out, then, yes, I’d say he’s being very helpful.”

“That’s a lot of ifs, Vakarian.” Her tone was lighter than it had been.

Garrus took an easier breath. “Well, I’m not saying it would have been my decision.”

“Yes, it would have. You and Shepard share that same damn over-developed sense of right and wrong. If those geth could potentially be a threat to organics, both of you would fall on your swords to keep them from being able to do it.” Tali crossed her arms, her weight shifting slightly under his hands, which he then removed. “Saving the Council, cleaning up Omega, now saving the galaxy from the heretic geth menace. I think she might be right. You are starting to believe your own press, … _Archangel_.”

“Well, now, I didn’t realize you were watching my vids, too,” Garrus teased, with a throaty chuckle.

Her arms tightened a bit, and Garrus wished he could see the look upon her face as her voice tightened a little. “I don’t. I’ve … heard mention of them.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh.” She waved her hands at him in a shooing motion. “Go play with your geth,” she said in a sportive manner that did not quite mask everything still bubbling on the surface. Garrus turned, complying, but before he could trigger the hatch her hand closed around his arm. “Be careful.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back before dinner, so don’t eat all the dextro-cream pastry things. I really want to try them.”

“I mean it.”

The seriousness in her voice caught his attention, so Vakarian laid his hand over hers. “So do I. We’re not done yet, Tali’Zorah.” Prying her hand off his armor, the turian slipped through the hatch leaving the quarian alone in the corridor.

He did not say anything as he approached the cockpit, just listened to the digitized inflections of the geth as Joker seemed to be mocking him. Shepard just shook her head, giving the pilot one of those looks he was more than familiar with before she glanced up at the turian. When she gave Garrus a nod, her furrowed brow suggested the question she would not ask; he merely nodded back, offering her a silent and confident reply.

Through the windows he could see the station—covered in black paneling it seemed that the geth intended it not to stand out. _Or was that part of the quarian design?_ Though with the way the bright green lighting shone from the bays he could not help but wonder if that were completely true. That lone green light made the face of the station glow like a beacon, it gleamed against the field of black, which was not well hidden at all in the Sea of Storms, at least not from their angle of approach. It looked like the face of a cyclops, one great eye, unblinking and twinkling as the _Normandy_ moved closer.

“Let’s take her in.”

 

**-3-**

Garrus pulled the image of the station up on the monitor, studying it yet again. It still looked as peaceful as ever, almost innocent floating there against the backdrop of the storms. Even though they had just crept through its corridors and destroyed dozens of platforms before firing off a powerful pulse that would rewrite most of the faction aligning with the _Old Machines_ , he still was not certain about any of it—the reason they were there, the choice Shepard made, even the fact that Legion and all the geth in his head let her make that final choice. The results were yet to be seen, even once they were noticed, he doubted he would be privy to them. Everything just seemed to remain tangled threads of some larger question. It was not a matter of trusting Nyx’s judgment; Garrus was confident that she made the decision after weighing every possible option, but still.

“Six million geth,” he whispered at the image that held his attention far too completely.

“Worried?”

The turian turned quickly. If he did not know better, he would have said that Nyx managed to step even more quietly than ever. His gaze moved over her for a long moment. “I’d be a fool, if I said no.” It was not much of an answer, but he would not veil his true feelings. Not from a trusted friend such as she.

“You would.”

Garrus leaned his hip against the console, paying no mind to the fact that the station still loomed on the monitor over his shoulder. “Then why? Why _rewrite_ them? Don’t you think it strange? Cruel, even? Like indoctrination?” He spoke with a shockingly quick pace. “Or worse.”

Nyx’s brow rose in increments. Then she hopped up onto a crate in the corner, pulling one leg to her chest as she listened. “You know I didn’t come to that consideration lightly.”

“I know, Shepard. It just—”

“Feels a little like what the Council did to the krogan,” she suggested. That single statement gave him an insight into the way she was thinking about what had happened.

Garrus shifted and took a step toward her. He remembered her reactions on Tuchanka, the things she mumbled under her breath in the hospital, the conversations afterward. “Then why go that route?”

Nyx leaned her head back against the wall and let out a long slow breath. “They were under Reaper influence and wanted to extend it. Maybe this will be a speed bump. Hold them at bay a little, if we’re lucky.”

“That simple?”

“No.” The human shifted, letting her legs dangle over the edge of the crate as she leaned forward on her hands. “I mean on the one hand I realize that, yes, they are machines. But …” She hopped down and paced a few steps. “Look at Legion. Why did it repair itself with my armor? How did it even come across it? It couldn’t have been an easy find,” the commander surmised. “He’s not just some mindless drone. Even EDI is more than just the _Normandy’s_ defense system. I’m not sure I did the _right_ thing, but I also feel like it was the best call for the situation. I don’t think leaving the geth on that station aligned with the Reapers and with the intention of attacking the other geth factions was the right choice either.”

“So why make that decision? Why not leave it to Legion and his incomplete consensus?”

Shepard shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I should have,” she surmised, rubbing at the back of her neck. “But when it came down to it, rewriting seemed like a bigger blow to the Reapers than destroying the station. I mean they are geth, but if what Legion says is true, the war started with these geth, not his own faction.”

“And we’re taking the word of AIs now?”

Nyx shrugged. “He saved us on that derelict Reaper and has proven himself since. I don’t have any reason not to trust his word. Plus he’s been fairly forthcoming.”

Garrus crossed his long arms over his chest. “It’s just strange, having a geth on board.”

“It’s all strange, don’t you think?”

Garrus just waited for her to continue, sensing she was going somewhere with that question.

“I mean look at the big picture, from outside of this ship.” She stopped her pacing and gestured at him with one hand moving in a sweeping gesture. “There’s some super massive race of living machines creeping toward the occupied worlds of the galaxy from dark space to destroy _all_ life. These Reapers are pulling the puppet strings of the indoctrinated remnants of the Prothean race, thought long dead, which is kidnapping entire human colonies for who knows what reason. Then there’s the tiny blip on this screen—the fact we just walked onto a 300-year-old quarian space station that’s been relocated light years from its home system by one side of a political schism from a synthetic race. Which not only started a war with organics a few years back, but is also hell bent on brainwashing it’s other half into worshiping the aforementioned massive living dreadnoughts. What about any of this sounds kosher to you?”

The turian stared at her for a long moment. Then a laugh burst forth, outright doubling over, Garrus tried to catch his breath as Nyx’s bright peel harmonized with his deeper multi-layered rumble. He wondered how he had never stopped to think about the things they were doing and had done from an outside perspective before. He had to admit it sounded like so many other conspiracies—some of which he learned over the years were true. With a thought toward Mordin and his reactions on Tuchanka, Garrus’ demeanor sobered again. Even so, the way Shepard presented the operations they had been on and were involved in made their endeavors seem so far-fetched and extreme. It almost sounded like the plot to one of those cult vids or a long-shot action flick.

Honestly, it was a wonder the Council even talked to them or reinstated Shepard’s standing as a Spectre, though he knew as well as she that it was merely an act to save face. They could not sweep her resurfacing under the rug, no matter how much they might wish to do just that. Covering up Sovereign’s attack alone was no small feat, but they managed it. Even after the damage done to the Citadel and the people lost, everyone still choked down the story that it was an isolated incident and wasn’t going to be repeated. Mounting evidence to the contrary did little to catch their attention either. Of course, in part, Shepard’s own near death experience helped them to cover it up. She had been the lone voice battling the silence, the one guiding the light in the darkness. With her loss no one was forcing the issue to the forefront. Everyone just tucked Sovereign, the geth, the Reapers, and even her under the rug and just pretended everything was fine.

Even now, Shepard sent every bit of data they happened across to the Alliance and the Council. Her reports went unanswered, completely unrecognized at every turn. They both knew that Cerberus was foaming at the mouth over the intelligence the team brought back, so the lack of response from other quarters felt more than problematic, especially in light of their public stances. Garrus watched his friend lean against the bulkhead, and he could not help but wonder if she felt about the way she seemed to have been muzzled. It was hard to admit, but it was like Shepard was still dead. She joked about it once with Joker after the redeployment after Saren’s attack on the Citadel—she was the OOSOOM Spectre—out of sight, out of mind. _Again_. Or maybe it was still.

Shepard, just like when the Council and the Alliance sent her to clean up the geth, was on the fringes again. Linked to Cerberus, a pro-human terrorist organization, at least as far as the rest of the galaxy was concerned—stole some of the popular credibility she had from the handful of people that believed the rumors that she was still alive. That part seemed the hardest for Garrus to fathom, though even he had merely thought it a rumor until he saw her in his scope.

Her life seemed much lonelier this time around, he thought taking in the tired smile she flashed him. “We did good. I hope. Weird, but good.”

“Weird  seems to be your specialty, Nyx.”

She grinned wider. “It does, doesn’t it. Maybe I should get that put on my resume—very good at weird.”

“You planning on doing another of these Reaper-centric dinner cruises of yours?” Garrus chided.

“Buy your tickets early. You know everyone’s going to want to get on the next one since this one’s going so well.”

Her confidence beamed in her countenance. She knew she would get it done; Garrus also knew she did not know quite how it would turn out except that she had built a solid crew and they could accomplish their goal. After that, it was anyone’s guess, or so she had confided.

“Without a doubt, the words ‘suicide mission’ are a great marketing tool.”

Nyx laughed. “It got you on the boat,” she replied, clapping  him on the shoulder. “Stop staring  at that thing. We’ve got collectors to focus on.”

She slipped through the hatch and was halfway up the corridor before Garrus called, “Shepard. Save me a seat on that next one.”

“Always, Vakarian. Right next to mine,” she said, giving him a curt nod of approval.

Garrus wandered back into the battery, shutting off the monitor. That was done. There were other things to focus on. His eyes drifted to the nest of blankets and pillows he kept in a warm, cozy corner of the hold then to the console at the base of the _Normandy_ ’s massive Thanix Cannons. The tip of a talon grazed the edge, before he stepped toward it. His nature got the best of him, as he started checking the weapons specs; he knew it would help their chances if he could just get another quarter to a third of a percent out of her, or more.

 

**-4-**

The dust from the mines on Omega was not the only reason three of their quartet were wearing helmets, though even that did little to disguise their identities. Garrus and Thane stood watch along with a pair of krogan mercenaries, the personal guard of the underworld dealer they were there to meet. This was not a part of the station that anyone should wander on their own, even a heavily armed and experienced Council Spectre, least of all one of Shepard’s current infamy. The turian peeked over his shoulder, checking on Shepard and the geth’s progress. The shifty volus, Lorkol Gon, they were trying to strike a deal with seemed far too comfortable in the seedy underbelly of the criminal haven that was Omega.

The tense overwatch grew more paranoid by the minute. The longer they were here the more likely someone other than Aria and the dealer she recommended would know the _Normandy_ ’s team was there. Thankfully, the negotiations ended a few minutes later. When the pair returned, the geth’s mechanical and measured movements were in sharp contrast to the tired trudge of the human beside him. Shepard’s sour look spoke volumes.

“How’d it go?” Vakarian asked as the two of them fell back from Thane and Legion, who moved at a steady clip toward the docks.

Nyx gave him an impatient glance. “Remind me never to negotiate with a synthetic present, _ever again_.”

The turian, not even trying to contain it, chuckled with a deep rumble. “So, you paid triple the value?” he asked, finally controlling his amusement enough to get the words out.

With a soft smile, Nyx shook her head. “Close enough. I swear it was like it wanted to help the dealer up the price on us.”

“Did you reach a number we could deal with?”

“Barely.”

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing Legion’s willing to play chauffeur.”

“Even if he wasn’t, it would be fine,” Nyx noted, the stress weaving its way back into her voice. “I just might have squeezed that volus a little harder than I did.”

Garrus laid a hand on her arm, halting the human’s progress. “And you’re still good with all this?”

“What all what?” she asked with a slumping sigh that communicated her unveiled exasperation.

“Legion? Cerberus? The Council? The Alliance? All of it?”

“Are you worried about me, Vakarian?” she teased, trying to lighten the load of the situation, and maybe a little to throw the turian off his current path.

“Shepard.” Garrus replied with a sternness that reminded him of his father.

Her posture straightened as her countenance became just as serious. “Are you more worried about retaliation from the pro-human group I spurned and ripped off, the politicians that want my head on a platter, or the geth we just reinforced?” she asked curtly. The tightness in her body and voice suggested that, as was her nature, Nyx once again held a great many things close to the vest and under the surface.

Garrus wondered if it was because she was trying to make it easier for everyone else on the _Normandy_ to take their tickets homeward bound. He considered offering to stay again, but also knew it would be futile. Even if she could use the support Nyx was not about to put any of the rest of them at risk for what she had done in the Bahak System. That was a bullet she was going to take alone.

“A little from all the columns, but for now—the ones closest to us,” he finally settled on.

“Miranda and the other Cerberus crew know what side their bread is buttered on—”

Garrus cocked his head at her. She might have saved them all from becoming Reaper goo, but much of the crew still kept their distance from Shepard and her operations team.

“They’re with us,” Shepard added convincingly, but Garrus was not sure if she was trying to convince him or herself. “They know the truth of the situation now. They’ve seen it with their own eyes. It’s not just some story now.”

“And what about the geth?”

“Do you mean Legion or are you still thinking about what happened in the Sea of Storms?”

Her question confirmed for Garrus that he was not alone in his lingering concerns about that mission. Rewriting more than six million geth and essentially sending them back to the others behind the Veil was a lot of potential power to send back to a former enemy, on faith. Faith that what fueled the schism which led to the Eden Prime War could be erased. Faith that Legion was not just some clever infiltration unit looking for useful intelligence to take back to a waiting force beyond the Perseus Veil.

“Yes,” he answered truthfully. Both concerned him.

Shepard sighed and started walking again. “Legion’s put himself on the line as much as any of us. He’s earned our trust.”

“As any good spy would do.”

The accusation in his words hit home, inspiring an increase of the tension winding through her frame. Garrus could see it in the way her gait shifted from a stroll to something closer to a march. He knew it was just one more step in the raising of her defenses.

“True. But a spy would also play things closer to the vest,” she stated. Garrus knew she was speaking from experience, in some of the little things she said to him Shepard hinted at some of the darker corners of her service. “Legion’s been almost entirely transparent.”

“It’s the almost that concerns me.”

“Do you think he’s planning to drag you all back to geth-topia or something?”

Garrus was taken aback by the sharpness in her tone.

“Yes. It’s a geth platform. And when this all started you were a vigilante picking fights with every mercenary group this side of the Terminus—alone.” Her blue eyes bored into him with stoic accusation. “Tali’s father was running illegal experiments and, technically, she was helping him. Zaeed’s a gun for hire. Kasumi can nick just about anything from anywhere, and has. The _Normandy_ itself is just some huge AI platform. And Joker, Chakwas, and I are all considered persona non grata in Alliance Space.” Her lecture ended with a lingering cold stare. “So what or who on the ship should be trusted, huh? The assassin, the teenage bottled krogan, or the escaped prisoner?”

Nyx turned and started walking before he could give her an answer. Garrus caught her easily, slipping his hand around her elbow. “You’re right. None of us at first glance seem like people you should trust with your fish.”

That quip earned a laugh.

“I just—”

“I get it Garrus. It’s geth. Just two years ago they were trying to wipe humans, and our team, off the map. It’s hard to let go of that kind of animosity and distrust. But we can’t put all the geth in the same basket. Just like I can’t put you and Saren in the same egg carton.”

Garrus groaned at the mere thought. “Point taken.”

Nyx nodded and the two of them returned to the _confiscated_ aircar, which they used to return to the hotel. The _Normandy_ was making itself scarce while Shepard and the others brokered the deal for a less noticeable vessel that could pass into ports relatively unnoticed. The team would pick up the ship at the docks in a few hours then rendezvous with the _Normandy_ and the rest of the crew in another system. From there most of the crew would transfer vessels and Legion would pilot them to a few major ports—Illium, the Citadel, and Omega—to drop off the crew where they would like to go. Shepard and Joker, along with EDI, however, were headed elsewhere to rendezvous with an Alliance representative who would broker Shepard’s surrender.

Garrus hated the idea. Felt like he was abandoning his friend, even though he was following her explicit and direct orders. The turian wanted to stay. He would be happy to stand beside her even in some battlefield of uniforms and ribbons. Even if he agreed that Shepard’s actions met the definition of the honorable thing, he still hated leaving.

Shepard had suggested he try to rattle cages in the Hierarchy since no one  was opening their eyes or ears about the Reaper Invasion. Her actions in the Bahak System might have bought the galaxy a little more time, but it would not hold the monsters from Deep Space at bay for long. Garrus surmised that might be another reason Shepard was returning to Earth in the manner she chose. The trial would garner  headlines and interest even if the public and the government were only privy to certain details. It could be her way to make a difference. To try and change opinions and policy before it was too late.

Sliding behind the controls of the aircar, Garrus felt like he might have found a way to live with abandoning her friend. He might not be facing a trial for blowing up a mass relay, but he could make some noise. Perhaps even make a few people listen. That could be just vigilante enough to suit Archangel, he thought with a little laugh.

 

**-Epilogue-**

After picking up that ratty vessel on Omega, Shepard’s crew spread to the four winds. Tali returned to the Migrant Fleet after using the funds Shepard gave her to bring home a mid-size, retired volus recon cruiser, loaded with supplies. Grunt, Samara, Miranda, and Jacob said their goodbyes on Ilium. Thane, Jack, and the kids from engineering hopped off with the quarian when the vessel docked at the Citadel. Kasumi disappeared there, too. Zaeed and Mordin took their leave on Omega, even Garrus kicked around the asteroid for a minute before booking a trip back to Palaven packing his renewed outlook. As far as he knew, Legion played the diligent bus driver, dotting the Terminus and Council Space with Shepard’s misfits before heading for his own dark corner to deliver his intelligence and information to the _true_ geth.

It did not take long for the turian to end up back on the _Normandy_ , nesting in the battery once again and spending his days losing himself in the firm exactness of numbers as he set to recalibrating the _Normandy’s_ main gun and other battle systems. He assisted Vega and Cortez with the weapons upkeep, not because the job called for it, but because it was another concrete activity that kept his mind off some of the harder things, like the fate of his home world.

This was no different. While seeing Tali’Zorah again reminded him that not everything in the universe was screwed up and broken, the briefing that followed his quick hello with the admiral, set him on a new edge. He wondered if there was solid ground left anymore, or if it had become edges, some with steeper drops than others. Take a step forward, edge. A step back. Precipice. To the side, another straight shot into the abyss.

Now it seemed that damnable geth station had come back to haunt them as well. First Mordin’s assistant’s research, then the rachni, now the geth. Garrus leaned on the table for a moment, the depth of it all bonding and piling together to become a massive, pressing weight, that only seemed to be growing greater. Garrus wondered when it would crush them, him, Shepard, the rest of the crew. The decisions dogging them were not even his own. He could barely imagine how Shepard was dealing with this newest blow.

 “Why did we even bother?” he whispered to the stripped weapon. He took a long deep breath and set back to his task. The rifle would need to be ready for battle soon. The grip and the body bore numerous scratches, dents, and dings. Shepard always had been hard on weapons, at least as hard as she was on herself. The commander pushed everyone, and every thing, around her, but none so mercilessly as she pushed herself. She always expected three times as much from herself as from any of her people, which is why Garrus always gave her everything he could muster and more, on and off the field. It was his way of trying to take some of the burden off his friend. Especially now.

While neither Shepard, nor Garrus, mentioned the rewrite again, some of his nightmares were still haunted by Haratar Station and what happened there. Even as he stood at the weapons table in the cargo bay, he could close his eyes for a moment and be back there—staring at the black hulk floating there against the vibrant backdrop The Sea of Storms provided. That eerie green glow shone like an unblinking eye. He could recall the faintness of sound in the airless environment, the lightness of his body, the muted spartan interior, even the closed off server rooms which housed millions of geth in their data banks. Geth he helped rewrite. Sure, Shepard made the call and Legion pressed the button, but Garrus had input; he was right there with them both throughout the whole thing.

Legion told Shepard the geth wanted to determine their own destiny, without the interference of the Old Machines. Even Garrus had believed the synthetic, then. After the recent briefing following the visit of the quarian admiralty, it was hard to reconcile. Reaper involvement in the debacle at Rannoch glared them all in the face. Shepard’s words had been succinct and to the most direct point. Garrus could see it. The same shadow that followed her after finding out the fate of the Rachni queen; she saw it as just one more decision come back to haunt her.

He had seen the readings himself. The signal shared features with the Reaper IFF. There was no denying now that something changed the consensus. A part of him understood it. It could have been a tactical decision in the face of the quarian attack. Perhaps when faced with extinction, having their path dictated did not seem so horrible a choice, he thought.

“But still,” he mumbled to the rifle he was working on, which was not his own. “To turn to the Reapers. Surely they couldn’t have been that desperate.”

The hand on his back made him tense. He knew who it was due to the lack of footsteps. It had always been one of the things about her he loved in combat and hated everywhere else.

“Shepard.”

“The quarians pushed them back through four systems. They were on the verge of genocide, again. So, of course, they grabbed at any solution they could find,” she said quietly, blinking up at him.

The dark splotches under her eyes were not just from lack of sleep. They were all battered, bruised, and exhausted. Garrus looked away, turning back to the rifle which bore just as many signs of their fight as its owner’s body. Neither of them said anything while he reassembled the rifle and checked the sights. He knew the specs of her equipment as well as he knew his own.

“What I can’t get my head around is how did they even find them? There’s no show of Reaper forces anywhere near the Veil. The quarians didn’t get any readings either,” Garrus noted.

Shepard shook her head, adding in a shrug.

“Maybe the rewrite failed.”

“Oh, it worked,” Nyx answered in a firm tone. “I’ve got the logs and reports to prove it.”

It was Garrus’ turn to shoot her a curious look.

“You remember my ‘save-your-ass’ filing system. The heretics were being carefully monitored as they trickled back. Legion was dropping me reports and, according to him, there were no issues. Mind you I got all this after the fact. Legion went dark shortly after the attack on Earth, which left me with some lingering questions,” she explained. Then she laughed. It was not a happy sound, like the bright, pealing laughter he could remember, but tired and jaded—holding back yet hinting at the disappointment and other emotions that she refused to succumb to in front of the crew for fear of damaging morale.

When Vakarian turned, the commander mirrored the shift. This would not be like the exchange outside Liara’s office, he knew, but still he rested his hand on her shoulder. Nyx nodded at him as she let go of a long exhale, and the tension in her shoulders relaxed slowly. Garrus knew it was because she understood what the gesture meant. He was there. He had her back. To the end.


End file.
